Redemption

This is a short story I wrote for a challenge. It's quite personal, but I decided to share it here anyway. :) Comments welcome and encouraged.

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I wander down the streets. The rain beats upon my back, and the cold seeps into my bones. I'm alone. There's nothing else to it. People crowd about me, but I'm invisible in their eyes. I'm alone.
Miserably I allow myself to be pushed about by the milling crowd. What's the point in resisting? It wouldn't do any good to try and resist. I'm not strong enough for that, and when you've gone along with the crowd all you life, it becomes an instinct.
Wait. Have I actually been on these streets for fifteen long years? Where has all the time gone? I shrug. Why care about the time anyway if nothing is ever going to change?
It's always dark here on these streets of...I'm not sure where. I was never taught where I lived, and I never cared to learn. But wherever this might be, the sun never shines. I'm not sure where I even learned the word "sun." It definitely shouldn't be in the vocabulary of a boy who's never seen it. Or maybe I have. Things get messed up with me. Just one day leading into the next until years are melded together into a seamless block of time.
As I trek down the asphalt, I notice a keyhole, a soft beam of light filtering out of it. Whenever I pass by this keyhole, something leaps withing me. I think some would call what I feel "hope." I just call it strange.
Today, something is different. The keyhole seemed to draw me to it. An odd feeling rushes over me. It's like I belong somewhere. I've never belonged anywhere, and I don't think I ever will.
Unable to resist it's draw, I approach the hole. I've seen it so many times before, but never have I seen it up close.
The light emanating from the keyhole is soft and warm. Although it's not much, it seems to wrap me in welcoming arms. I don't want to leave. If I step away, I fear the comforting sensation will dissipate, and I never want it to leave. Never in my young life have I felt such peace.
Suddenly, the light flickers. A voice is murmuring, and the door around the keyhole begins to move. More of the warm light floods out, now rushing through the opening between door and frame. But this time I'm scared. Terrified is more like it. I can't run. Can't move. My knees lock, and I stare in fear as a face appears in the crack.
Then the door is flung wide open and arms reach out for me. I give a strangled cry, choked by the crippling fright that overwhelms me.
A voice breaks through the haze of fear. It's gentle and calm. It tells me I have nothing to fear and that I'm safe. Can I trust it?
I choose to trust. I've never trusted someone before. Actually, maybe I have. I trusted that one person long ago. So long ago that I hardly remember it anymore. That was before all this happened. Everything before then is pretty much erased from memory. I’d trusted, and look where that got me.
Slowly, I reach my hand toward the one stretching toward me. It's strong and pulls me in with ease. The smile on my rescuer is broad and welcoming. He says something to me, but I don't comprehend it. I'm too enraptured by the sensation of human touch without the intent of just brushing me aside.
Now I notice the rest of the room, bathed in that wonderful light. There are boys and girls much like myself. Looking at them, I realize how dirty I am, and blush. The touch of warmth in my cheeks feels good, even if it's out of shame and embarrassment.
The man smiles at me, intense joy evident in his face. He leads me to a side room where a wooden basin stands, filled with bubbly water.
A shadow falls across the room, and a voice booms out. He's speaking to my rescuer, and I think he's asking why I'm so dirty. In shame, I shrink back, wishing desperately that I could disappear. I feel so dirty, so defiled. I could never live in the home of one whose very presence oozes purity.
My rescuer steps forward and stands over me. I can’t believe my ears as I hear him tell that beautiful figure that he wants me. That he’s going to take away my dross. How would someone want me? I’m nothing but a dirty child, left on his own to die. People aren’t supposed to care about me.
The words of my savior seem to work magic. The figure, once so terrifying in it’s purity now bends down to me. He - I’m pretty sure it’s a he - extends his hand and touches.
He doesn’t flinch as his skin comes in contact with me, but I do. He asks me why, and I reply, my voice quivering, that I’m filthy. That I’m going to stain his hands.
He shakes his head, a warm smile spreading across his features. Unbelieving, I listen to him say that I’m perfectly clean. Afraid that I’ll be disappointed, I let my gaze ease down to my clothes. I gasp. They’re perfectly white.
Then I realize that my rescuer is crouching beside me, and I’m surprised once again. He’s dirty. All the dust and soot from my clothing has somehow been transferred to him.
As he reaches out and hugs me, he whispers, "Welcome to the family." He goes on to tell me that he'd been drawing me to that keyhole for so long, and hoping I'd respond.
The holy man I learn now is the king, draws me into the next room. A table sits in the center, and around it are chairs, both empty and filled. He leads me to a chair with a name engraved on it. Is that my name carved in that wood? I think it was a long time ago, but I haven't ever been called by a name since...well that's longer than I can remember.
Awkwardly, I settle myself into my seat, head down. I'm too shy to look up. Eventually, however, curiosity gets the better of me, and I look up. All of the others seated at the table appear just as insecure as me, and some of my apprehension filters away.
Then we all stand as the door opens, blinding light flooding into the room. In the doorway stands a brilliant figure. I feel compelled to bow, and I bend low, even falling to my knees. I know instinctively that it's the King, and that he and my rescuer are one. His presence commands authority, and I think all of us in the room feel it.
As he lifts his hands, I realize he is my savior, only more beautiful. He's perfectly clean now, unlike the last time I saw him. Even though he's so bright, I mostly notice just one thing: the scars on his palms, and I know they're for me.